Bryony Gordon plans to stay alcohol-free this Christmas and kiss goodbye to hangovers.

Christmas is the only time that you can legitimately call spirits “liquor” in this country, and that is because at Christmas you are drunk. Completely trollied. Morning, noon and night. Brandy for breakfast? Don’t mind if I do (it would be rude not to).

I drink responsibly at Christmas, which is to say, I do not drink at all. In my house, December is known as “amateur’s month” on account of all the people on the streets who cannot hold their booze. You know the ones: from January right through to November they will nurse a small thimble of red for the duration of a dinner party; they put their hands over their glasses so often you start to wonder if it’s a defensive move that they’ve picked up in karate. The next thing you know, the Christmas decorations go up and they start acting like Rab C Nesbitt on a bender.

I like a sober festive period, if only because I’m hung over from the previous 11 months. Some people do Dry January; I do Dry December. It means that I can enjoy all the prawn wonton canapés at the parties. I can walk home in the crisp air without fear of falling into a road and ending up in A&E along with everyone else.

And then, on Boxing Day, I can wake up feeling just a little bit smug and take my bouncy three-year-old for a bracing walk while all around me groan about their hangovers. I can fry up all the fabulous leftovers (turkey, goose-fat potatoes, sprouts, pancetta and the rest) without feeling any real guilt. Christmas: ’tis the season to be jolly... not trollied.